


Overcooked

by RandomSlasher (Randomslasher)



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, Multi, Sanders Sides - Freeform, paternal moxiety, thomas sanders - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 12:38:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12388242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randomslasher/pseuds/RandomSlasher
Summary: Patton is having a rough day. Virgil is there for him.





	Overcooked

He tries to stay happy. He really does. And truthfully, for the most part, he manages it. 

There’s a lot to be happy _about._  Thomas is doing well. He’s had phenomenal success as a social media star; he’s doing what he loves, and he’s surrounded by people who love him. And if there’s the occasional heartbreak, well--that’s part of life, isn’t it? That’s how people grow and learn about who they are and what’s really important to him. 

And Patton can take it. He can. He’s stronger than a lot of people give him credit for. 

But that’s okay, too, because if he needs to be the soft one they all come to when their own edges are too sharp, well, that’s just fine. 

He can take it. Whatever they need, he can take it. 

He’s gotten good at it, too. He knows how to help each one of them. When Logan needs to vent, Patton supplies him with puns and ridiculous jokes, because they give Logan an outlet for his irritation--something safe to lash out at, to let off some steam. And if sometimes Logan’s words are a little sharper or cut a little deeper than Patton was prepared for, well--that’s okay. He can manage hurt feelings. Heck, he  _is_  feelings, so he’s good at hiding them, when he needs to.

When Roman is feeling creatively stifled, he can be a cheerleader, supportive and encouraging. He’s stayed up for hours before, listening to Roman brainstorm long into the night, and when he can tell an idea is going to fall through, he’ll straw-man the whole thing--push it to ridiculous extremes so Roman sees why it _won’t_  work, but can blame Patton for the failure instead of himself. He preserves Roman’s ego, and in doing so, preserves Thomas’s, and it’s good. It’s not always _fun_ , to be the one getting told the ideas are ‘ridiculous’ or ‘patently absurd,’ but it’s better than Roman realizing he’s the one who had the idea in the first place, because a full-fledged ego crisis is not fun for _any_  of them. At least this way it’s just Patton taking the brunt of the thing. 

And Virgil...ah, Virgil. His little Verge. The kiddo has been trying so hard lately, and Patton loves him for it so much. He spent so long in isolation, and Patton knows much of it was self imposed. Virgil was so afraid the others would reject him that he rejected them first. And when they had to work together, for the sake of Thomas’s videos, Virgil painted himself the villain because he assumed that would be his role, and it was easier to swallow if he’d chosen it for himself. But Patton was, and is, unwilling to accept it. No matter how many snide remarks or rolled eyes he receives for his efforts, he always makes sure that Virgil feels as included as possible. Nothing matters more than making him feel wanted, and accepted, and loved. And if those sarcastic comments sting a little, well...that’s no big deal in the long run, right? Patton can handle it. 

Patton knows this is his job, and he’s _good_ at it. That’s the thing. He’s _damned_ good at it. 

Sometimes, though, he wonders if he’s not maybe a little _too_  good at it. Because he may be a soft little puffball at heart, but even the softest of hearts can break, given the right amount of pressure. 

He sighs, glasses pushed up on his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’s been fighting a headache all day--the result of too many long hours and not enough sleep, thanks to Thomas’s latest video schedule--and he can’t seem to make himself get up and do something about it. Eating would help, probably; drinking something would, too. 

But instead he sits, alone in the darkness of the living room, slumped on the couch with his arms resting on his knees and his head bowed in exhaustion, like he’s been for the last hour or so. He’s exhausted, but he’s far too tired to do anything about it.

Maybe he should just try to sleep, at least. If he won’t eat, and he won’t drink, and he won’t get up and go to his bedroom, he _could_ at least lie down here on the couch. Just lie down, stretch out, pull a throw pillow under his head and drift off. It would be easy, surely. As exhausted as he is, it would almost have to be easy, wouldn’t it? His eyelids feel like they’re made of lead and his eyes feel gritty and they burn a little. He doesn’t need a mirror to know they’re bloodshot and red, or that there are probably bags under his eyes fit to rival Anxiety’s. 

He should lie down. Just lie down for a little while and sleep. But he doesn’t move. 

At least, not until the sound of something thunking onto the coffee table startles him enough to make him sit up abruptly, a tiny little “Meep!” escaping his mouth. 

Virgil arches an eyebrow at him, one side of his mouth curving up into his trademark smirk. “Meep?” 

Patton blinks at him, then forces a sheepish smile onto his face. He doesn’t actually _feel_ sheepish--he’s too full of bone-deep exhaustion, too heart sore, and embarrassment is an emotion for the well rested--but it’s what Virgil expects him to do, so he does it. 

“Well, what can I say, buddy,” he says, and his voice is chipper because he’s very practiced at making it so. “You gave your ol’ dad a fright!” 

A snort. “Uh huh.” Virgil sits down next to him, eyes never leaving Patton’s, and Patton looks away before his own reveal too much (he can hide a lot behind a big beaming smile, but his eyes always give him away). 

He turns his attention instead to the object that made the thunk in the first place: a tray laden with two mugs of steaming liquid and a large plate of what appear to be chocolate chip cookies. 

His interest is real, when he blinks in surprise and looks back at Virgil. “What--what’s all this?” 

Virgil colors slightly and shrugs. “Hot chocolate,” he says, picking up one of the mugs (the ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ mug, Patton notes), and pushes it into Patton’s hand. “And cookies. Logan helped me make them.” 

“Logan baked?” Patton asks, looking up from the surface of the mug, where a couple of mini marshmallows were bobbing playfully on the surface of the creamy-looking chocolate. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I mean, I didn’t want to do it alone, because you know how I am with baking--” 

“I still don’t know how you managed to set a bowl of flour on fire.” Patton agrees.

“--so I made him help me,” Virgil continues, pointedly ignoring Patton’s ribbing. “And this is the result.” He picks up a cookie and sniffs it, then shrugs. “I dunno. I think they could’ve turned out worse? Anyway.” He waves at them, and settles back with his own MCR mug, pointedly avoiding Patton’s eyes as he takes a sip. 

Patton looks down at the cookies, and does pick one up, but he doesn’t eat it. Instead, he studies it, as a lump begins to rise in his throat and his eyes begin to sting for a completely different reason. 

“So you decided to make them because...?” 

Virgil flushes a little harder and shrugs again. “I mean, they’re your favorite, right? I just...I dunno. You don’t have to eat any if you don’t want to, though. It’s cool. I just...thought you might like some, I guess.”

Patton stares at him for a second longer, then turns back to his cookie and smiles. It’s a shaky smile but it’s _real_. He nods firmly. “You thought right,” he says, and the cheer in his voice is far less forced this time. He dunks the cookie in the hot cocoa, and takes a big bite. It’s good--a little bit overcooked, maybe, but the hot cocoa softens it up perfectly. He makes a show of closing his eyes and humming happily. 

“Mmmmmmm,” he says, nodding. “These are fantastic, Verge. I’d say you’re almost ready for your Master Chef debut.” 

Virgil snorts, elbowing him--gently, out of deference for the cocoa--but when Patton looks at him again, Virgil is smiling. It’s a little less guarded now. In fact, it’s almost shy. “So they’re okay?” he says. “Really?” 

“They’re _wonderful_ , Virgil,” Patton says, and even if they weren’t, Patton would have eaten the whole plate just to see the broad, happy smile that stretches across Virgil’s face at the words. 

“But seriously, kiddo--what brought this on? I thought you hated baking?” Patton asks, dunking the cookie for a second bite. 

Virgil shrugs, drawing his feet up beneath him on the couch and sipping at his own mug (which, Patton realizes, contains not cocoa, but coffee. He shudders involuntarily). “I dunno,” the anxious side says, tracing the edge of his cup with one finger. “You just...you’re always making us stuff, and...and stuff. I just kinda figured...maybe you’d like something you didn’t have to make for once.” 

Patton stares at him for a moment, then sets his mug down, afraid his trembling hands will make the hot drink slosh over the side. “So you just...decided to bake me cookies?” 

“Well...yeah. You like cookies, right?” Virgil glances at him from beneath his bangs, and though Patton knows he’s going for nonchalant, the tension in his body, in the line of his shoulders, betrays him. 

Patton’s vision blurs abruptly, and he swallows hard, but he’s smiling broadly when he says, “Yeah, kiddo. I _love_  them. So much.” 

Virgil looks up at him, and the moment stretches for a warm, honeyed eternity, before he smiles too, shy and happy. 

“Good. I, um...I love them, too. A...a lot.” 

Patton nods, looking back at the cookies that are just a tad too dark around the edges, and thinking he’s never seen anything that looked more delicious. 

“Well,” he says after a moment, clapping his hands together. “Nothing goes better with a big plate of cookies than an episode or two of Steven Universe. Whaddya say, kiddo? Join me?” 

“Sure, I guess,” Virgil says nonchalantly. But he’s smiling into his coffee, and when Patton begins to drowse, six episodes (and twice as many cookies) later, Virgil gently eases him in to rest against his side, and drapes the blanket over both of them. Patton finally drifts to sleep, his head resting over Virgil’s chest, the sound of his heartbeat in his ear and the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulling him to peaceful, quiet dreams.


End file.
